


Moonlight Through an Open Window

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, But they're so gorgeous, Consensual sexual activities, First Time, Fluffy sweetness, Hand Jobs, I'm so embarrassed, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Voyeurism, unadulterated smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: The sixties are over but London still bears the faint, patchouli-scented memories of that era. Even at night, in a cheap flat in Kensington, there's something magical in the cool air coming through the bedroom window. And, oh, how the ethereal silver moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains and rests on a still figure.orIt's 5 September, 1970, and the three members of Queen indulge in something new.





	Moonlight Through an Open Window

5 September, 1970

 

The sixties are over but London still bears the faint, patchouli-scented memories of that era. Even at night, in a cheap flat in Kensington, there's something magical in the cool air coming through the bedroom window. And, oh, how the ethereal silver moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains and rests on a still figure.

Christ, but Roger is a thing of beauty. He's in a dark blue dressing gown, one of Freddie's, and it makes his eyes shimmer like ocean waves. His cheeks are slightly flushed. He starts a bit when the door opens and Brian comes in.

Fresh from the shower, Brian's skin still glistens with drops of water. His hair, usually meticulously ironed, is a mass of glorious curls. He's in another of Freddie's ridiculous collection of dressing gowns, a black satin concoction that falls slightly open with every move he makes.

Brian's eyes are slightly lowered. This is new to him. It's new to Roger as well, but Roger defiantly throws back his head and beckons Brian to join him in the moonlight.

They join hands, reverently, and Brian takes a deep breath as he raises his gaze to Roger's face. Roger, smiling the little-boy smile that makes their market stall customers swoon, reaches up with his free hand and lightly fingers the glossy black spirals of Brian's hair. "I like it," he says after a moment. 

Brian dips his head again. He's not used to compliments on his looks, poor lad, not the way Roger is, and he doesn't know how to respond to them. Roger puts his finger under Brian's chin and guides his face up. "Do you still..."

"Yes." Brian cuts him off. "I just...it's a bit overwhelming." He swallows, clears his throat, and whispers, "I'm not sure what to do."

"Me, neither," admits Roger. The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. "That's what Freddie is for."

They turn in unison, still holding hands, and face the bed where Freddie is propped up on pillows like a sultan waiting to receive gifts from his subjects. A cigarette dangles from his elegant fingers. He grins up at them. "Must I do EVERYTHING myself?" he inquires archly. "Have you no imagination? No fantasies?"

Roger never backs down from Freddie's challenges. He looks straight into Brian's eyes and puts his hands on the shoulders of the dressing gown. He pauses for an instant, and his hands tremble ever so slightly. Brian nods and licks his lips, then Roger sildes the gown down to expose his torso to the moonlight.

He's not as pretty as Roger, but there's a leonine grace to his lanky figure, fine muscles under the damp skin twitching as each inch is revealed. Roger's fingers dancing across his chest make him gasp.

Roger shrugs one shoulder, a _get on with it_ message implicit in the gesture. Brian unties the sash of Roger's gown and pushes it down, past the muscled back and upper arms only a drummer possesses, until it slithers to the floor at their feet.

Ever the scientist, Brian takes time to observe Roger's body. He catalogues everything. The little hollow at the base of his throat. The place at his waist that could go to fat if he's not careful with his drinking. The sturdy legs, the fine dusting of gold hair along his flesh that darkens and thickens at the groin. He averts his gaze from Roger's cock and a blush stains his cheekbones when Freddie giggles at him.

"He hasn't got anything you haven't got, love."

Roger rolls his eyes and holds his hands out toward Brian's dressing gown. "Let's have it," he whispers in the unexpectedly raw sing-song that's always such a shock coming from his appealing face. He's eager now; Freddie can see it in the way his breathing quickens and the rush of his hands to fumble Brian's gown down and off. 

Once laid bare, Brian turns his head away from the other two men. Roger trails his fingers along the lanky torso and down to his hip. "That's gorgeous," he murmurs. 

Brian looks over his shoulder, disbelief evident in the curve of his mouth. "The hell, Rog?"

He's undeterred. "Iliac crest," Roger purrs. His hand flattens over the bony protrusion and slides down to the concavity below. "My favourite bit." He crouches, steadying himself on Brian's thighs, and kisses each hip in turn. Brian's knees wobble, impossibly long legs suddenly as unstable as a newborn colt.

"Don't let him tip over, darling," Freddie calls from his vantage point. Roger jumps to his feet and steadies Brian. Roger's smaller than Brian but stronger, and when he clasps his friend to his chest all the trembling stops.

"Better?" Roger asks, head tilted to the side. He stretches his neck to kiss Brian, but Freddie stops him.

"Get him into the light, first."

Brian moves closer to the window. The blackness of his wet hair is a stark contrast to his skin, and his hazel eyes glisten silver around jet-black pupils. Roger and Freddie both hum in approval, then Roger tries again, standing on tiptoe to bring his lips level with Brian's.

Suddenly Brian anchors his hands at Roger's jawline. It's not an aggressive movement but a careful one, holding Roger's face as if it were a priceless piece of art. He leans down so that Roger won't have to balance on the balls of his feet and covers Roger's mouth with his own.

It's not a passionate kiss, not yet, but it lasts a long time. Roger snakes his arms up and around the back of Brian's neck, fingers getting lost in the mass of his hair. They pull apart, a thin thread of saliva connecting their mouths like a spider's web. Roger's expression is one of wonder, blue eyes enormous, bottomless. 

"Fuck." Freddie sits up a little straighter, hands folded too casually over his lap. "So beautiful."

"Again," wheedles Roger, and Brian swoops down for another kiss. This time it's more intense, hands roaming everywhere. Brian is moaning, softly, his dark baritone in counterpoint with Roger's tenor sighs. Their bodies press closer and closer together, then suddenly both men step back, blushing, when erection meets erection.

With scarlet cheeks and downcast eyes, they turn to Freddie. It's what he wanted, it's what he begged them for, and he knows that he's the emperor of this room. Smiling, he motions toward the cupboard. "Open the door. There's a mirror." Roger complies and swings the antique door open. "Good. Stand in front of it. Face it. I want you to see just how exquisite you are."

Balking, Brian shakes his head and runs a hand over his swollen lips. "I can't," he says in a little, choked voice.

Roger clasps Brian's wrist and tugs gently. "C'mon, Bri."

"You PROMISED," Freddie adds.

The bones in Brian's ribcage throw shadows along his torso, but when he lifts his head the moonlight touches his face, illuminates it. He lets Roger pull him toward the mirror and turn him around so he can see himself, see Roger, see Freddie behind them. Roger pulls up on tiptoe again and digs his chin into Brian's shoulder. He drops a kiss behind Brian's ear as he lets his hands roam downward, ever downward, across the narrow waist and taut stomach. "I think we should reverse spots," he whispers, "is that okay?"

Brian turns around abruptly and gathers Roger to himself for another kiss, and another, and then he moves to put Roger in front of him. He leans his cheek down onto the bright hair, sighing, and repeats what Roger had done to him. 

"Further," instructs Freddie.

"Oh God!" gasps Roger as Brian takes hold of his penis. There's a moment where they wriggle against one another until Brian has the friction for his own needs, and when the angle is perfect they smile at one another in the mirror. 

Behind them, Freddie fumbles with the nightstand drawer until he pulls out a little bottle and tosses it toward them. When Roger steps away to retrieve it, Brian's discontented whimper breaks the stillness of the room. Roger's fingers, normally so sure and nimble, struggle to open the bottle and he ends up pouring the lube all over his hands. He laughs, eyes twinkling with mischief, as he coats himself and Brian at the same time. "This is gonna be so good." 

He tosses the bottle back to Freddie, who catches it neatly, then leans back against Brian the way they had stood before. Taking Roger in hand, Brian starts moving his hand up and down the shaft, twisting a bit when he nears the tip. Roger's eyes and lips both snap open. "Oh, fuck...fuck..."

Brian's back arches, hips moving forward in a steady rhythm. He looks into the mirror for a moment, then closes his eyes and buries his face in Roger's blond mane.

"Ah-ah-ah," warns Freddie. "You need to watch."

Brian shakes his head, his stubble catching on Roger's hair, but Roger stills his hand and says, "Please. You don't know...you're so gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous..."

"Bullshit," pants Brian.

Freddie snickers. Roger huffs out a frustrated sigh and tries a different tactic. "I need to see your eyes," he whispers as he guides Brian's hand up and down, up and down, until they are as in sync as they are when they're playing music. 

His skin flushing scarlet, Brian forces himself to look into the mirror. Roger is THERE, sweat breaking out across his face, mouth open in a desperate attempt to take in enough oxygen. The muscles in his forearm ripple as he changes tempo, guided by whatever force aligns his guitar perfectly with Roger's drums. 

They're both perspiring now, both letting out beautiful little sounds of pleasure like the harmonies they sing in the studio. Roger throws his head back against Brian's chest, panting and grimacing but always looking at their reflected bodies. He reaches back, grasps a handful of Brian's hair, and suddenly his whole body is shaking. The orgasm breaks over him, making him cry out Brian's name, God's name, even Freddie's name as he spills and spills over Brian's hand.

His body going slack, Roger nearly crumples to the ground. Brian holds him up at the waist, kissing his collarbone, humming to him as he gathers his composure. A few harsh breaths later Roger begins to calm as Brian caresses him.

"You're bloody good at that," Roger manages to gasp. 

"He's had loads of practice on himself, darling," interjected Freddie, earning him a glare in the mirror from Brian. "Now, what are you going to do for him?"

Roger - wild, untameable Roger - sinks to his knees and places Brian's erection between his lips. The shaft of light from the window falls on his face as he gazes up the tall span of Brian's body. His eyes have never been more enchantingly blue.

Freddie is still watching, hand on his own cock, bucking into his fist.

All inhibitions tossed aside, Brian keeps his gaze fixed directly on Roger. When Roger's hand comes up to his waist for balance, Brian clasps his fingers tightly and puts his other hand gently at the back of Roger's head. When Roger moans in response, all the muscles of Brian's body tense up, tuning themselves like guitar strings.

"Yes," breathe both Brian and Freddie in unison. The bed rocks violently for a moment and then stills just as suddenly as Freddie collapses, sated. Brian looks down at Roger, stroking his cheek with a trembling hand as he comes and comes and Roger swallows and swallows.

Brian's legs give out and he drops to the floor on hands and knees, panting as if he'd run a marathon. His mouth forms the words _are you okay_ at Roger but he can't get the sounds out. Roger wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before collapsing forward into Brian's waiting arms. Roger lets his head fall to Brian's shoulder and rest there while Brian strokes Roger's hair, burnished to a dark gold by sweat and moonlight.

In the mirror, they can see how amazed they look. Freddie murmurs, "Beautiful boys," and then adds, "since this was my present, I should get to play with it."

Laughing, Roger clambers to his feet and helps Brian stand up, no mean feat considering that his long legs are still trembling. "Don't be so dramatic, Fred," he replies in a voice that's huskier than ever. They climb in bed on either side of Freddie, who hands them warm, damp flannels for cleaning purposes. Brian leans across Freddie's chest to dab at a smear of semen next to Roger's mouth.

Freddie pulls them close, one hand closing around Roger's forearm and the other playing with Brian's riotous curls. His smile is content, catlike, the smile of someone whose plans have just come to fruition. 

The room smells like soap, sweat, and the breeze blowing in through the window. When Roger shivers, Freddie holds him more tightly, stroking along his upper arm. Brian lies still, his chest rising and falling more normally as his breathing regulates itself, one arm flung over his eyes.

Freddie clucks his tongue as he nudges Brian's arm away. "It's still my birthday. You still have to do what I say."

Brian opens his eyes. They're clear, bright, happy. He kisses Freddie at the temple and says, "Happy birthday, Freddie."

Roger mirrors the action. He reaches across Freddie's chest and takes Brian's hand. "Happy birthday, Freddie - although we're the ones who got the present."

Already their minds are working in three distinct phases. Brian, hoping that he hasn't done anything too rash; Freddie, hoping he can find someone to give him the love he craves; Roger, hoping they won't have to wait until Freddie's next birthday to do it again.

They have questions as they snuggle close, but there's no point in asking them tonight. They let the moonlight bathe them, three beautiful young men with silvery dreams and all the time in the world to make them come true.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a song from a long-forgotten musical called "Romance, Romance" by Barry Harman and Keith Hermann.
> 
> I've started a Tumblr! Find me here: lydiannode.tumblr.com .


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